Kvetching about Subway restaurants

Minor points:

1. When I am at Subway restaurant purchasing just cookies (yes, just cookies) and when I go to pay with my debit card, a cashier invariably challenges me. "Don't you have any cash?" I just sigh and stare at the cashier for about forty seconds to a minute. On one occasion, he got all uncomfortable and just mumbled, "that's OK, you can use debit," but I continued to stare.  And then for no reason whatsoever I whispered, "this was my mother's debit card." I'm not sure what point I was trying to make.
2. This one time they ran out of bread. This happens to me all the time. Why don't you have bread, Subway restaurants? Is it because you've stretched yourself thin with eight different varieties? Whole wheat and white is sufficient for your mouth-breathing customers, but you had to be fancy.  Parmesan oregano.  Honey oat. You have hearty italian and italian (white)?  What the fuck is the difference? There's that one that looks like it's crusted with guano. You don't impress me with your litany of breads. You want to impress me? Stock bread. Last time I went to Subway, all they had was the ungodly square of carbohydrates they use to produce wraps.  I had never seen it before, but it resembled a chamois. I just got cookies, paid with debit, and left.
3. And while we're at it, I thought you were tesselating the cheese slices now?  Because last time I was there I had to remind the guy. It was lame. This isn't something to be sneezed at, Subway Artists.  The cheese must interlock nicely.
4. Stop saying "lettuce, tomato?" and plunging your over-eager fingers into those toppings when you are ready to dress my sub. I don't want either.  That's right ass-fuck, I don't want lettuce on my sub.  Think that's a little strange? Don't dig my lifestyle?  Fuck you, hater.  Just green peppers, onions, olives, sweet onion sauce and salt thanks. A bit more sweet onion sauce. That's great.
5. As far as I understand the difference between "to go" and "for here" amounts to sliding your sandwich into a plastic bag. So, why not ask that?  Sometimes I want a bag, even though I'm staying and sometimes I will leave and not need a bag. Either way, I just don't want to have to decide right then what the fuck I am going to do. Maybe I'll stay, maybe I'll go. Fuck you Subway restaurants.
6. What the hell is so southwest about your southwest sauce?  This sure as Hell doesn't taste like Arizona.
7. Please slow down when you're making my sandwich.  Make it with care, and grace and felicity. Any mongoloid can fist ingredients into a sandwich in the same manner you might clean an eavestrough.  I expect more from someone wearing a green golf shirt and disposable gloves. And by more I don't mean "expertise," I simply mean, "barely below competence." Can you manage that?
8. Hey, did you just cut my sandwich with that knife that's well-laden with mayonnaise, mustard and other disgusting miscellaneous wonder sauces that I didn' want, thereby leaving a disgustting wall of sauces for me to endure on my first bite? Make it again, you clods.
9. Subway, your macadamia white chocolate chip cookies are so good, I swear you could support your enterprise on this one product alone.  With that in mind, would you mind eliminating the soups?  Who gives a shit about Subway's soups? No one.
10. Also, It's time to retire your grilled chicken deal.  That square of "meat" is nasty.  Everyone's in on it now, and the secret is out: that shit is not meat, and is barely food.  Stick to cold cuts. It's a sandwich place.  No one will call you on it.
11. I also love how a sandwich isn't a meal, but a sandwich with a beverage and bag of fucking potato chips is a meal. No where else would this logic be acceptable. Foot long sandwich? Just a snack. Whip out a bag of Sunchips and an orange juice?  Bam, dinner is ruined.
12. Why did you change the name of the meatball sub to "meatball marinara?"  What is gained?  Were people confused before?  I knew there was a sauce involved.  Everyone knows there's sauce involved.  Now there is more to say. That's stupid, Subway restaurants, and you are stupid for changing the name.
13. True story: I walked into a Subway restaurant and asked an employee what BMT stood for.  And he calmly replied: "nothing.  It's just a name." As if those were just three letters that sprung to mind when making the sandwich. Word to the wise, Subway restaurants let your employees know that it actually stands for something. This guy was insane. It's like I asked him what's in the cold cut trio and he said, "oh nothing. It's just a name. There is no meat or bread or toppings. You're buying the concept of a sandwich.  Did you want to make it a meal?" (BTW: it used to stand for Brooklyn Manhattan Transit, but now it stands for Biggest, Meatiest, Tastiest. Not sure which explanation I hate more.)
14. The veggie sub, while a necessary addition to a menu to accomodate weak vegans and lame people, is nothing short of pathetic and condescending.  "Veggie delight?" As though to say: try a sandwich with nothing but toppings.  You will be delighted!  That said, the veggie patty looks totally disgusting so I'm not sure which is worse.  I'll take being patronized over being fed factory-moulded roughage.
15. God, the pizza sub is so good.  I have absolutely no complaints. Never, ever stop making this sandwich.

A freshly cracked egg

Cracking News: Every Egg McMuffin sandwich is made with a freshly cracked Canada Grade A Egg.

Well, stop the presses.

I could have guessed that McDonald's had a sense of humility about the quality of their product -- it is fast food after all -- but do they think McFood is so shitty that they have to brag about using real eggs in their breakfast sandwiches?  Talk about battered wife syndrome.

And call me naive, but I expected nothing less than "freshly cracked" eggs.  Breakfast is already pretty moron-proof, even for a retard in a McDonald's visor.  Sure, I know about those liquid eggs in a carton, but that stuff's barely suitable for undergrads and inmates.  Should I really be surprised that McMuffins are made of, you know, actual eggs?

McDonald's confidence must be at an all time low that they are actually pitching this as "news."  As if to say: this just in, not everything on our menu is engineered bio-waste.  Also: recent studies show that that Filet-O-Fish is in fact, edible.

How are consumers supposed to react to this news?  With surprise?  With elation?  With a heartfelt nod and a "good on you, McDo"?  If they're anything like me, they reacted with a placid "no shit" followed by a deep sense of suspicion about everything else on the menu.

Shut up about your fucking eggs, you assholes.

Oh, and thanks for the free coffee!

I found this scrawled...

I wrote this late one night, prob-possibly high and poss-probably extremely high.  It appears to be the legend for a menu for a restaurant from the future. (You might want to read that again.) I'm not sure why the intoxicated me is so enraptured by the promise of things to come. God bless him, he tries so hard.  Fortunately, I know better; the future is nothing more than the past with more plastic and smoother corners.

Perhaps, if we're lucky, they'll approve those sex-domes I've always wanted, but more than likely:

• we will still wage wars with coloreds
• other coloreds will continue to starve
• people will bitch about download speeds
• cars will remain firmly on the ground
• George Clooney's appeal will continue unfettered
• Florida might finally disappear underwater and
• world politics will flop like a restless sleeper or else collapse into a fascist theocracy

Here's exactly what I wrote that night:

Captain Zoom's Outer Space Eatery

Background radiation = french fries
Hawking radiation = curly fries
Weak nuclear force = onion rings

Quasar = burger
Pulsar = cheese burger
Parsec = veggie burger

Supernova = milkshakes
White dwarf = sundae
Black hole = cola
Ever-increasing entropy = diet-soda
Nebulae =

And that's where I leave off, unable to think of a suitable candidate for "nebulae."  Since we're here, can I offer perhaps, "root beer"?  Or "Sprite"?

I'm not sure what the purpose of this was, or how I thought I was ever going to use this.  Besides, reviewing it now, it seems so implausible that an Earthling of the Future would walk into a restaurant and order a "pulsar with a side of Hawking radiation and a black hole."

Actually, that sounded amazing.  Was I planning on opening a restaurant?  Where would I get the seed money?  I must have had some sort of a plan.  (It's also possible that I thought you could literally fashion these food items out of the astronomical phenomena listed.  I was baked, dude.)  The problem with high me, is that he's frightfully optimistic.  I know the success rate of restos in this city.  Something tells me Captain Zoom's wouldn't cut it.

Inkhorn terms

Just once, I'd like to walk into the Subway restaurant by my house wearing the outfit of an eighteenth century Englishman -- replete with a noble powdered wig, crushed velvet breeches, and walking stick -- and say:

"Sirrah! What wond'rous evening this! Though mine appetite grows inhospitable and turbulent. Prithee tell, are your savourous sandwich breads freshly baked? Then grant me thy favour, and let us begin with a King's foot of your Parmesan ore-gah-no. Aye, cheese without question. Hmmm? Methinks tonight, twixt the moment of night's curtain and the falling sun, I opt for the BLT.

"Clamperton and shandy! What day brained questions vex this hungered soul. Has come before you a man than wants not a toasted sub? Aye, toast it!"

And thirty seconds would pass.

"Mark thee this: tender cleavings of green pepper, and the coldest tomah-to, sliced as thin as cold winter's breath on window pane, and lettuce, firm and plenty. And cousin, douse that supper with oil and vinegar. Thou art cupshot! I said douse! As though wretched by flame, and by desperate hands thou art to extinguish! Hurry man! My spirit like burnt embers cools, and by my troth, I wouldst consume an equine whole at this moment.

"Beshrew me, no cash hath I. Do you take debit?"

Real letters from real geeks

The World's Worst Resignation Letter

Dear management:

While I'm more or less grateful for all the years of employment (and paycheques) the time has come for yours truly to shut 'er down. Yeah, I gotta quit. Look, I know it's cliché but let's not fuck the babysitter here: it ain't you, it's me, you know?

This company is growing faster than a tumour and I couldn't be more excited. Our stock has increased steadily and investors are shitting themselves like the lunch crowd at the Legion. But related to this growth seems to be an increase in my workload and responsibilities. And to be honest, I'm not really feeling that.

Plus, no one gave a shit about my ideas. My suggestion for a larger fridge in the breakroom was met with guffaws. And when I suggested a Tropical Thursday where we crank the heat and wear bathing suits all day, I was told I was "out of line." It's not like I raped someone. Yet. (Jokes!)

This isn't about money, yo. Put that shit away.

Now, I will sincerely miss everyone. (Even that slut Michelle that everybody hates.) And I hope that my departure doesn't cause too much grief and heartache. Though I have only worked at Mr. Sub for two months now, in that time I feel like we've become a kind of family. I know I'm going to be bummed for a couple of days after my last shift, but don't worry: I'll be sure to visit lots and hit y'all up for some free subs.

Thanks again for the opportunity. I look forward to the free subs.

PEACE,

Harvey

Real letters from real freaks

Dear Mr. Finnegan,

Contrary to the guidelines laid out in the Oasis Restaurant Employee Handbook, I have decided to pursue a extra-professional relationship with one of our day servers: Jessica Fletcher.

Even though she has only just started Jessica has demonstrated excellent judgment at the tables, and has conducted herself professionally with the hosts and kitchen staff. She is also balls hot. God, I want to fuck her.

Of course, I am aware of the pratfalls inherent in such an undertaking. The fact that we work together could complicate things. Then again, she does have this petite body that is curved (just so) and long blonde hair, and a brilliant smile.

She has killer breasts also.

So in conclusion, I hope I can secure both your support and the support of corporate in this challenging endeavour. I feel that the time has come in my career with Oasis Restaurants to take some risks and pursue some new ass. She is available (and let's face it more-than-willing) and I am not going to squander an opportunity like this simply because we share an employer.

Yours very sincerely,

Harvey Kornbluth


------------------------------

Dan Finnegan, Manager
Oasis Restaurants

RE: Your request to engage in extra-curricular activities with Jessica Fletcher

Dear Harvey,

She's sixteen.

Best regards,


Dan


P.S. You request to change availability has been denied. We're still going to need you to close on Saturdays.

He whispered, gravelly

The old man sat in the booth, staring beyond the horizontal slats of the window blinds, at nothing in particular. Though he sat perfectly upright, his face looked tired, seemingly worn from a lifetime of bad news and worse luck. His eyes were haggard; his skin leathery and deeply tan. His unshaven face had a hard, miserable, appearance. In contrast, the only waitress in the diner was young, and happy, and pleasantly plump. She approached his booth with a broad grin, and sparkling green eyes.

"Well, how are you today?" she chimed.

"Hey," the old man whispered gravelly, "what d'ya got to eat around here?"

"Well, how'd you like to see the lunch menu?" was the peppery and prompt reply. The waitress briskly pulled a laminated menu from her apron and placed it gingerly before the leathery old man. "There you are!"

"God damn," the old man whispered gravelly. "I can't read this."

"Well..." said the waitress in an ever-helpful tone, "our lunch specials are the French onion soup, and the chicken fingers." She paused briefly for effect, and then announced proudly, "those come with fries."

The old man clucked to himself, said "Goddamn" in a gravelly voice, and considered the options to himself. He stared out the window for what seemed like a long time. There was no one outside. The old man's mind wandered through the empty streets drained by the dry afternoon heat.

"I need a Goddamn drink," he whispered gravelly.

"Pepsi OK?" another peppery reply.

"Get me some Goddamn bourbon," he whispered gravelly -- and looking up at her for the first time, "please."

The waitress was apparently satisfied with the old man's manners. "I'll be right back!" And she spun on her heels, disappearing through the door behind the long lunch counter.

The old man once again slid his gaze between the dusty horizontal slats of the blinds, beyond the empty afternoon streets, straight through the kitchens and living rooms of the bungalows all around him, and even beyond the arid stretch of desert that surrounded everything in sight.

He stared into Nothingness through cold slits; Nothingness stared right back at him and he could sense her gaze - soaked with indifference, or perhaps it was enmity. She watched him from some impassable distance; and he could not look back. Awash in nothing, he felt his faded memories glow briefly, like embers in a breeze, and then fade again. Suddenly, he blinked, and sighed, and his mind retreated to the booth in the diner as the waitress returned with his drink.

"There you are," she said with emphasis, and plunked the small glass in front the man. He picked up the bourbon and downed it.

"Goddamn," he whispered gravelly. "Get me another."

Tonight's specials

Alaskan King Crab

$45
What a pain in the ass this is. You won't care how many men died to bring this crustacean in: this highly sought-after King is a "royal" pain in the ass. It's a Goddamned tangle of fish, ice and spiky exoskeleton and you're armed only with a useless nutcracker and a glorified skewer with two tiny tines on the end to get to it. Irritating. You'll want to give the entire dish a once over with a wooden mallet just to get the ball rolling. But you can't. Served with roasted potatoes.

Filet Mignon

$23
So what it's tender? It's not worth it dude. After the three seconds it takes you to down this morsel, you'll be asking for some reading material to keep you entertained while everyone else finishes their adult-sized portions. Is it worth it to get a lower-quality steak just to feel like you had something to chew on? You decide.  Served with your choice of side.

French Onion Soup

$12
Served in a nauseatingly cute glazed porcelain bowl, the french onion soup lives up to its reputation of being the only thing with the colour and texture of meningitic mucus, while being edible too. If I asked you to wash down a cup of melted cheese with some gravy, would you do it? Then why are you ordering this shit?

Chicken and Ribs

$30
Make a decision, you Goddamned pig. Served with fries (oink) or garden salad.

Big Nachos

$19
We took fresh sour cream, spicy salsa, seasoned ground beef, and every item from your vegetable crisper and piled them high on corn torilla chips. Then we added about forty other ingredients, and a kilogram of cheese. Good luck finding a chip to hold on to; this snack is truly out of control. It's fucking retarded. Perfect for sharing!